


John's gotta stop causing problems

by SilverMaxwell (Endless_beginnings)



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Bruises, Fights, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endless_beginnings/pseuds/SilverMaxwell
Summary: John ends up starting a fight, our boys get hurt, a cop flirts with Brian, everyone needs some sleep.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	John's gotta stop causing problems

**Author's Note:**

> Asfh, another joint fic! Took a break from requests to write this

Unfortunately, John was drunk.

To be fair, they all were, but John was the most wasted out of the four of them. And when John was drunk he had the tendency to get irritating...Mostly to random people who had the displeasure to be in the same room with him at the time. So, that’s exactly what he was doing, simply pissing people off.

George just observed the situation playing out from his spot in the booth beside Ringo, a slight smirk on his lips as he took a sip of his beer and watched John argue with the much bigger man. He knew it could only end poorly, most likely with John getting a fist to the face, something that George would probably laugh at. Sometimes John just needed a punch to remind him that he needed to shut his mouth, it usually did the job of quieting him down well enough.  _ Obviously _ , George cared about his friend, but he knew John could handle himself.

Besides, if things went south and the man wanted a fight, he wouldn’t just be facing off against one person. He’d be going against four that would always have each other’s backs.

“Should we go help him?” Ringo eventually piped up, looking a bit concerned as he peered out the booth at John and the rather scary man he probably shouldn’t have been messing with. George opened his mouth to reply but Paul answered first, chuckling behind his beer as he spoke.   
  


“Nah, let him be. If he wants to go ‘round pissin’ people off, that’s his own problem. Just...Tell me if he gets smacked with a chair,” he responded with a shake of his head, a small smile on his lips as he glanced over at John as well. He was the first person who’d say they needed to go help, but he’d known John the longest, he knew to just let him be himself.

“Oh...Alright…” Ringo muttered, seeming slightly unsure of the answer but accepting it anyway. He just told himself that Paul knew John the best out of all of them so he was probably right. And so, they went back to their own things, drinking beer and chatting quietly amongst each other, not particularly caring about what was happening with John. 

John was a grown man, he could handle himself.

The sound of a bottle shattering made them start to care though, their heads almost simultaneously turning in the direction of the noise to find that the man had stood up and the bottle he had been drinking from had become a pile of broken glass on the ground. 

Before the three Beatles could react though, the man was already heading out the door, pushing other bar patrons as he stormed off.

"That's right! Go off and cry a river to someone who cares! Maybe they'll fight for a twat like yourself!" John yelled out, stepping over the glass shards as he watched the man slam open the door and storm out into the night. “That is, unless you wanna come back here and fight  _ me!” _

John turned towards the other Beatles with the  _ cheekiest _ grin any of them had ever seen. He puffed his chest out proudly as he walked over, the others simply not knowing how to react.

" _ Christ,  _ Johnny, _ " _ Paul breathed out as John squeezed his way into the already crowded booth, squishing against Ringo with an  _ oof _ . "What the hell was that about?" 

John simply shrugged, placing his - sixth? Eighth? Tenth? -  _ One _ of his many empty beers down on the wooden table.

"The bloke recognized us, had a few choice things t'say and I put him in place." Was all he offered as an explanation, finger tracing over a few swears messily carved into the table. Paul shook his head, though didn't bother to hide his smile.

“That fella could’ve torn you apart, John.” George laughed as he finished off his beer, elbows on the table and chin in his hands as he turned his gaze on the singer. 

“Ah, shuddup, Harrison. It’s not like you’d turn out any better,” John continued to joke around, chuckling at himself before he chugged the rest of his beer and set it down hard on the table. “Alright, lads, what say we get outta here? Smells like shite in here anyway.”

The others shared a look, deciding that it was rather late, as they had a studio session the next morning, quickly paid their tab and exited the bar.

The sky was dark, the street lamps providing  _ just _ enough light to see as they walked. They didn't get too far though as a pair of men suddenly emerged from the shadows, one of which had a familiar scowl. It was the same man from the bar, the one that John had pissed off. 

George tensed up and took a small step closer to Ringo, curling his hands into fists. He could almost sense a fight forming and when it started he wanted to be able to protect Ringo as much as he could. 

Ever since they had met the drummer he had been a bit protective of him, even taking a black eye from a rowdy fan just to defend him after he joined the band. And he wasn't about to stop protecting him then.

With narrowed eyes he glanced around in search of a possible escape route, frowning at the sight of three more guys approaching them from behind. So...They were trapped… _ Wonderful _ . 

He nudged Paul with his elbow and nodded in the direction of the guys behind them, just to warn him of their presence. If a fight were to start, they’d be screwed. It’d be five against four, they’d be outnumbered. 

“You wanted a fight, huh? Well, you’ll get one now, you bastard,” the lead guy snarled out at John, glaring daggers down at him. John let out a breath and looked around warily, even while drunk, he knew it was a bad idea to fight five guys that were much bigger than them. 

“Easy there, fuckwits, we don’t want any trouble,” John tried and failed miserably to defuse the situation, earning a heavy sigh from Paul at his horrible attempt. George would’ve laughed if he hadn’t thought he’d get his face punched in from doing so.

“Too late for apologizing now.”

One of them spoke but George wasn’t really listening anymore, he was too focused on the yelp that had come from Ringo when he suddenly disappeared from his side. 

It seemed as if one of the man's friends had had enough of their talking, jumping straight into action and holding the drummer up by the collar of his shirt  _ several _ inches off the ground.

"Let…Let go of me!" He cried out, rather pathetically kicking the air as he struggled in the man's grip, not being able to pry his hands away. The man holding him almost looked like he found Ringo’s feeble attempts to free himself funny.

_ "Hey!” _ George yelled as he turned around and the other Beatles watched on, wide eyed, as George stepped up and  _ pushed  _ the man back, allowing Ringo a chance to escape his grip.

And as soon as the man stumbled back with a grunt, everything turned into chaos. Fists were flying everywhere and George was hardly even sure what was happening at that point. He was being grabbed and punched and kicked and he fought back with everything he had in him, but maybe even that wasn’t enough...

It was just a blur of action around John and before he could even protest to the fighting around him, a fist connected itself to his face. He stumbled backwards, a hand immediately grabbing the point of contact as if to soothe the pain. Even if he’d been in enough fights as a teenager to know what a punch felt like, it still hurt. He squinted to see the very man he had argued with over, glaring at him with enough heat in his eyes to melt ice.

The man took another step forward and a surge of anger went through John's body as he swung at the man's face, successfully striking him on the cheek. For a moment neither moved, the pair simply staring as if daring the other to move.

John managed to evade another punch, but due to the alcohol still in his system he ended up falling down on his right side instead. His elbows scraped against the gravelly ground, pushing himself away from the other man. Successfully managing to get far enough to allow himself to survey the pure chaos around him, even if only for a few moments.

He could see George successfully keeping his ground. Paul and another man had their arms locked in a way that appeared like Paul was trying to keep the other man from  _ strangling  _ him. As John stood it finally hit him that Ringo was missing from the action, starting to look around in search of him specifically. He may have been almost blind seeing as he didn’t have his glasses on, but he could still see Ringo almost completely hidden from sight behind two of the guys, seeming like he was doing pretty good for someone as small as he was facing off against two guys.

Maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ they’d actually win the fight!

Although, the sound of a crash quickly pushed that thought out of his head, turning to see that Paul had been thrown into an actual pile of garbage. On any other occasion, he probably would’ve laughed if he was being completely honest, but he couldn’t simply because of the situation they had been forced into. There was a high chance that Paul could’ve gotten hurt from being thrown. 

He was about to rush over and check up on him, make sure he was alright, when a punch suddenly landed on his jaw and stopped him from going any further. The force of it was almost enough to knock him to the ground,  _ almost.  _ He did stumble a bit though, catching himself against the nearby wall of a building. He cleared his head just in time to see one of the men grab George by the shoulders and  _ tackle  _ him.

The sound of a head hitting the ground was horrifying enough to nearly rip a scream from John's throat and he was fairly certain his heart skipped a beat just because of how awful it was to hear a skull slammed against the concrete, it made him sick to his stomach.

"George!" He shouted, fear building inside him every second George didn't move. He was crumpled on the pavement, the impact of the hit having knocked him out. At least, he  _ hoped  _ the guitarist was only unconscious and not anything...Worse.

"Let go!" Came a cry from Ringo, John turned his head so fast his neck protested at the action, catching sight of one of the men holding Ringo back by the arms, as if to allow the other man an opportunity to land a few good punches to Ringo's face. The only thing preventing the other man from doing so was Ringo continuously kicking forward, causing enough of a struggle that the man's grip was starting to slip.

John could only flinch as a single,  _ hard _ punch landed right on Ringo’s nose. He didn’t even need to have his glasses on to see the blood starting to flow from the drummer’s nose and there was a  _ lot  _ of it.

He was so distracted by Ringo and George’s injuries that he didn’t even notice a fist flying towards him until he had been knocked to the ground, looking up to see the alleged idiot in charge standing above him. He was about to get back on his feet and get back to fighting when he felt a hard kick land on his stomach, earning a groan out of him as he fell back to the ground on his side.

He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach to try and protect himself from getting kicked anymore, but it hardly did anything to help him. The man just kept on kicking him over and over again, right in the stomach. 

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” A voice that John didn’t recognize spoke and he could hear footsteps growing closer, almost sighing from relief as the man finally stopped kicking him so he could focus on whoever it was that had spoken. He couldn’t see who it was but whoever it was, they sounded pretty serious.

“It’s none of your business, piss off,” the man who had been kicking him growled, seeming like he could hardly care less about the person who had just shown up.

“I dunno...I’d say it  _ is  _ my business since you seem to be attacking these poor fellows and assault isn’t exactly legal, you know. And...I am a cop, after all,” the so-called cop explained coolly and John didn’t even have to look to see how pale the man’s face had turned, he probably looked as white as a sheet from fear. 

John bet it was hilarious.

“Best run along now, unless you lot want me taking you in for this,” the cop continued calmly and John relaxed as the guys finally left them alone, all five of them booking it in some random direction so they could get away from the possibility of arrest.  _ 'Cowards'  _ John thought bitterly.

“Need some help there?” 

John looked up to stare at a man with blond hair and rather strange eyes (one was as blue as Ringo’s and the other one was a light green) offering a hand to him and John gladly accepted it, taking it and hauling himself up with a slight wince of pain. There was definitely going to be some bruising around his stomach. 

“Uh...Thanks..?” John said quietly, realizing he hadn’t yet learned his name. Although he didn’t exactly give a damn in that moment once he remembered his friends and the fact that they were hurt. 

He rushed over to Paul first, helping him stand and not fall back into the trash pile. Thankfully, his injuries only appeared to be minor, the worst one seeming to be a scratch on his arm. 

“You alright, Macca?” He muttered to him, just to be sure. He didn’t want to take any chances with Paulie, he couldn’t risk him being hurt, he cared about him too much to see him be hurt. Much to his relief, Paul nodded.

“I’m fine, John, really,” Paul assured him, then raised an eyebrow as he noticed the cop standing behind John. “Who’s this?”

“Right, right. Where are my manners?" The cop laughed. "PC-32, at your service," he introduced himself with a tip of his police helmet, clearly not going to give them his actual name. 

A groan interrupted John before he could press him with questions any further, whipping his head around to see Ringo crouched down beside George who was finally starting to open his eyes. Despite his body protesting at the simple action of walking, he managed to make it towards George as the guitarist began to stand, only with the help of Ringo though.

"George! You alright, lad?" He asked quickly, slightly uneasy at the dazed look in George's eyes. George groaned, his eyes shutting once again. 

"...M'head hurts," he managed to force out, looking like he could barely even keep himself standing. Ringo grabbed George's shoulder to keep him steady, finally looking up at John.

"We should go somewhere with more light.” Ringo sighed, but before he could say anything else, he was interrupted by John. 

_ "Holy shit!" _ John cursed as he took a step back, his eyes growing wide as he stared right at the drummer. 

The left side of Ringo's face was scattered with bruises, an ugly blotch of red stretched across his cheek, right under one of the identical black eyes quickly forming.

But what freaked John out the most was the river of blood coming from Ringo's nose, a steady flow that dripped down his chin and to his shirt. 

"Your nose alright, Ritchie?" Paul appeared by John's side, eyes looking back and forth between the excessive amount of blood and all the bruises. 

"Yeah, just stings a bit." Ringo made an attempt to wipe the blood from his lip with the back.of his hand, but only succeeded in smudging it across his cheek, causing John to cringe.

"Here," PC-32 appeared, handing Ringo a handkerchief. Though confused by the cop’s sudden appearance, Ringo gratefully took the cloth with a small "thanks" and began to at least try and wipe some of the blood away. As Ringo was attempting to clean up his face, PC-32 made his way behind George, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at the back of his head.

“Okay, son, tell me your full name, your age, and…” He paused and seemed to think for a moment, glancing around until his gaze eventually settled on Ringo. “His full name too,” he then noticed the confused looks from John and Paul. “Just trying to make sure his brain wasn’t knocked around too bad in there.”

“My name, uh...Is George Harrison...I’m 19, and that’s…” George squinted his eyes at Ringo, like he was trying to figure out what exactly his name was. “That’s Ringo…” He eventually decided on, even though he knew deep down that it wasn’t really the right answer.

“His  _ real  _ name, George, what is it?” PC-32 asked firmly, trying to get George to just answer the question already. It was definitely concerning that he already couldn’t remember what Ringo’s actual name was, but it was even more so that he had to think about what his own name was and his age.

“I...I don’t know…”

"Shit," Paul breathed out, looking around the dark street as he tried to form a plan. "We’re...Close to Eppy's home, yeah? Won't take us long to walk there, right?" He rambled, turning to John who had moved to support himself on lamp post, clutching his stomach.

“Yeah, shouldn’t take too long. He’ll know what to do...Hopefully…” John replied with a sigh, wincing at the action, He didn’t even think about how they probably should’ve been on the way to the hospital rather than their manager’s house.

The entire walk there was… _ Difficult,  _ to say the least. Paul and the policeman helped George walk, keeping him steady in an attempt to prevent any more damage to his head and also just to make sure he didn’t fall right on his arse again. Stopping only once when George ended up hurling out the remains of the cheap food they had eaten at the bar hours before.

John had successfully sobered up at some point after the fight, but still used Ringo as a crutch for a majority of the walk, leaning on him as he tried to overcome the twinges of pain caused by the many kicks to his stomach. But finally,  _ finally _ , they got to Eppy’s house and PC-32 knocked on the door. For a moment it occurred to John that Eppy could possibly be asleep, but then he appeared in the doorway, albeit tired but he was still  _ there. _

“Hi, Eppy...” Paul greeted him quietly, sounding almost ashamed as he spoke. He was tired, they all were, but he still felt slightly guilty for making their manager deal with them so late at night.

For a moment all Brian did was stare at them, seeming to take in their collectively bruised appearance, before finally snapping out of his trance.

"Wha...What happened to you four?" Brian seemed to overlook the policeman that joined them, as he managed to take George away from PC-32 to pull him inside.

The group piled into the large living room, placing George on the couch while John made his way to the opposite end of the same couch, taking the opportunity to rest.

"Some bastards jumped us," John answered, though Paul was fast to correct him.

"John got into a bit of a tiff with some bloke at a bar, when we left he came back with  _ friends _ ," Paul explained rather bitterly and John simply rolled his eyes.

Brian shook his head, hands on his hips, as he started to move towards the kitchen to retrieve a wet towel for Ringo so he could clean his face better, and maybe even get a first aid kit that John knew he had hidden somewhere.

"I swear, whenever you boys are left to your own devices you get into all sorts of trouble-"

But just as Eppy turned around he barely managed to avoid crashing into PC-32's chest, blinking for a moment as he finally acknowledged the policeman's presence. "Oh, uh...Hello? And who might you be?" Brian said, now, for what could be the first time in his life, feeling very underdressed as he was in nothing but a set of mismatched pajamas.

The policeman smiled down at Brian, taking off his helmet and putting it under his arm.

Paul looked up from checking George's head, eyes bouncing between the two older men before he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, this is PC-"

"Clarke, Thomas Clarke," PC-32 interrupted Paul, stretching out his right hand for a handshake. “But you can just call me Thomas." And to the disbelief of everyone else in the room, he  _ winked  _ at Brian.

For a moment Brian was speechless, reaching out to shake the hand of the rather handsome policeman.

"Brian Epstein," he finally spoke when he could remember his name, still partially in shock as Thomas's smile revealed perfect white teeth. 

"A pleasure to meet you Brian.” His grip on Eppy's hand remained firm, in fact, Thomas's other free hand placed itself on  _ top _ of Brian's.

Paul cleared his throat to get their attention, but John decided to take a much more...Direct approach. 

“Alright, lovebirds, wrap it up! George here is hardly even conscious anymore and I don't really think you want him dying on your couch while you're too busy flirting to notice.”

Brian actually jumped back from Thomas's grip, rather embarrassed, while Thomas had the gall to look disappointed. But Eppy was still quick to George's side, who looked ready to doze off.

"George, whatever you do,  _ do not _ fall asleep," Brian muttered as he gently touched the back of his head, searching for a bump. "Was his head bleeding?" He questioned Paul, who simply nodded. 

"Earlier it was,” Paul answered, glancing at George for a quick second. “I think it stopped, though," he added afterwards.

Brian hummed, turning around to see John still grumpily sitting on his couch, arm over his stomach. Ringo stood by his side, wiping away the dried blood from his face with a wet paper towel he had gotten from his kitchen. Now that his face was clean, the bruises seemed to pop out even more, his nose now considerably swollen. Paul had gotten the least injured, with two long (but thin) scratches on his arm.

Brian checked his clock hanging over the couch, its hands reading '1:35'. He sighed and shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. At least the hospital was always open.

"We need to get you boys checked up at a hospital,” he told them, then turned his head towards Paul, gesturing towards George.

As soon as they managed to get George into the backseat the others piled in, Ringo in the middle closely followed by John while Paul quickly strapped himself in the passenger seat. Just as Brian was about to get behind the wheel, Thomas cleared his throat.

"I best be going, my shift doesn't end for another four hours," Thomas placed his helmet back on his head. "Here’s to us crossing paths again, hopefully under less dramatic events." With a tip of his helmet and another wink, Thomas walked off into the night.

Eppy watched him leave, hands still on the car door even though his eyes were fixed on Thomas. 

John just rolled his eyes.

_ "Brian!" _ He yelled out to get their manager’s attention, trying to get him to hurry up and just get in the car already. 

"Yes! Right! To the hospital!" Eppy forced out a laugh, getting in and turning the car on.

Thankfully, it was a slow night at the hospital. The nurses were quick to place George in a room and they gave John and Ringo checkups; concluding that John was just bruised, but unfortunately they had discovered Ringo's nose was broken, taking him in for a splint.

And now they sat in the waiting room for the results of how George was doing, hoping that he hadn't been hurt  _ too _ bad even though they all knew that he had taken quite a nasty fall on that concrete. 

John picked at his nails, the waiting room was silent. The lights above them were bright, preventing him from taking a kip, leaving him with no choice but to listen to his thoughts.

He normally didn't feel guilty about these types of things, this wasn't his first fight, but this time around felt  _ different. _

It was his fault after all, _he_ was the one who had pissed off that guy, not any of his band mates, causing it to escalate into something worse. And the others had paid for his actions; Ringo with his large bruises and bloody nose, and George, the poor lad, getting his head slammed to the ground.

"You alright, John?" Paul's voice brought him back from his thoughts, John's face changing to one of surprise from the frown he had been subconsciously doing.

There was a beat of silence. They were thankfully the only ones in the waiting room, Brian a bit far off talking to a nurse, though the two Beatles couldn't hear them.

John shifted in the cheap plastic seat.

"Stomach is just a bit sore, that bastard wasn't very strong," he answered, hoping that Paul would be satisfied with his response. Unfortunately though, he was not.

"I'm not talking about the bruises, John." Paul rested his head on his hand, appearing as tired as he sounded as he looked at John through half-lidded eyes.

"Aw, I thought you cared about me, Macca," John cooed, leaning in closer to Paul and batting his eyelashes at him. He always hated having serious conversations so he was certainly going to avoid them whenever he could, he wasn’t exactly a fan of talking about his feelings.

_ "John,"  _ Paul repeated firmly, narrowing his eyes at the older male to show that he was being serious. John slumped back against his seat in defeat, allowing silence to overtake them once more.

"I was…" He struggled to voice his thoughts for a moment, eyes trained to a brown smudge on the floor. "...I'm worried, alright?" He finally blurted out, returning to pick at the non-existent dirt under his nails. "We wouldn't need to be here had I kept my damn mouth shut…”

Paul stared at him, not moving from his slumped over position.

"Well, yeah…" He started, rubbing at his eyes before sitting up straighter (and even if it was true, Paul's agreement still stung). 

"But, you said he started it, yeah? We never would have expected him to bring back more people," he leaned in a bit more. “If you really want to blame people, blame the bloke that lunged out for Ritchie, or even blame George, he was the first one who actually hit him, y'know.”

John sighed and shook his head. 

"George was only protecting Ringo, he doesn't deserve the blame.” 

"So don't blame yourself for their injuries either, we could have easily run off, leaving you alone since those men only wanted to fight with  _ you," _ Paul continued, crossing his arms. "But we stayed, I bet if you go ask George and Ringo, they'd both agree that they wouldn't have wanted you fight on your own.” 

John looked up to face Paul, who was now facing him entirely, a serious look on his features. He ran a hand through his messy hair, nodding slightly at Paul's words.

"Doesn't stop me from being worried, Macca,” he admitted softly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

He was caught off guard by the hug. 

It's a little strange, with the handles of the chair between them, and with the strength Paul had grabbed him at, they dug into his side. Paul's grip loosened a bit, but he didn't move. 

John wasn't used to these types of hugs from Paul. They were usually brief and rare. 

But he took advantage of it, tired body melting slightly at the contact, head resting on Paul's shoulder. He took in a deep breath, he could feel his worry melt off and-

He sniffed.

" _ Christ,  _ Macca!" John recoiled a bit, nose scrunched up. "You  _ reek!"  _

Paul scoffed, hurt by his words as he retracted too. 

"Well, I was thrown into the trash! What do you expect me to smell like? Daisies?" 

Brian cleared his throat from above them, interrupting their conversation before John could complain about Paul smelling horrible again.

"George is going to be fine,” he sat down on the other side of Paul, slumping down into the chair. "It'll just take a couple of days for him to heal up, I'll have to call Mr. Martin to reschedule the studio session…"

"Oh, right…" Paul blinked as he tried to find a clock in the near empty area. "We had a session in the morning.”

"In five hours," Brian couldn't help but correct with a sigh.

"Sorry, Eppy," Paul sheepishly apologized as Brian shook his head.

“It's fine, the well-being of you four is more important to me than making sure we keep on schedule,” Eppy said and gave them a tired smile.

John felt oddly touched by that.

A few minutes passed before Ringo finally came out. The bruising around his face had darkened, turning from red to a dark purple. At least from what John could see, as Ringo walked out he held a few papers over his mouth and nose, like a makeshift mask.

"They chop your nose off or something, lad?" John teased at an embarrassed Ringo.

" _ No, _ " came a slightly muffled reply from the drummer. 

"Then what's wrong Ritchie? Did they mess something up?" Eppy began worriedly. Ringo just shook his head. He hesitated for a moment, hands drinking the sheets of paper before finally lowering them from his face.

His nose had been set with a splint in order for it to heal. Though the splint itself was barely seen, as it was held in place with white medical tape. The combination of those things made his nose look even bigger than usual.

"I look ridiculous," he whined, throwing himself into one of the chairs across from them.

John and Paul answered practically in unison.

"You look fine," Paul reassured.

"You look like an idiot!" John laughed.

“John!” Paul exclaimed, turning towards John so he could scold him. “He just got his nose broken, go easy on him!”

“Paulie, I can’t go easy on him when he looks like that!” John teased, leaning forward as if he was getting a better look at the drummer. Ringo just groaned and covered his face with his hands.

A few more insults were exchanged as Paul and Eppy watched on in amusement until  _ finally,  _ George came out into the waiting room, looking a lot better than earlier even if he did have a nurse at his side presumably to make sure he didn’t fall flat on his arse again. 

“George? Are you feeling any better?” Eppy inquired as he rose from his seat, making his way closer to the guitarist who gave him a slight nod in response as he walked closer to the rest of them.

“I feel like shite...But I guess I could feel worse…” George answered with a quiet chuckle, though it held no humor, wincing a bit as he reached up and touched the bump on the back of his head. 

“You took a nasty spill back there, son...Glad you’re alright…” John muttered to George as he made his way over, sounding almost  _ embarrassed  _ to even let him know that he cared about him in the first place. But George was okay now and that was all that mattered. 

“Thanks, John. I mean, I’m sure I’d be feeling a lot better right now if you hadn’t pissed off that fella back there…” At the guilty look on John’s face, George grinned tiredly at him. “M’kidding, calm down, Johnny. I don’t blame you. It was that bastard’s fault that I got me brain all knocked around, not yours. He was the one who tackled me. Not you.”

At least his words made John feel a little better.

Soon enough, they left the hospital and they were all squished back into Eppy’s car, Paul once again being made to sit in the passenger’s seat simply because he still smelled - quite literally - like garbage. At some point on the car ride back to Eppy’s place, Ringo dozed off with his head rested on George’s shoulder and George couldn’t find it in him to wake him, even when they arrived.

Paul carried the sleeping Ringo inside and when he asked Brian if they could, by chance, stay the night there, Eppy didn’t think he could say no even if wanted to. He showed them to the guest room and George found that he didn’t mind that there was only one bed and having to share with a passed out Ringo. The second his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep so fast that he wasn’t caring about anything by that point. 

Paul had, almost immediately after placing Ringo on the bed, gone off to shower upon getting Eppy’s permission to use it. Meanwhile, John was trying to figure out where he was going to sleep, figuring he’d probably just end up on the couch or something. But, much to his surprise, Eppy gave up his own bed to him and Paul and said he’d sleep on the couch instead, which John was definitely grateful for. 

John didn’t know when Paul eventually climbed into bed beside him, but he didn’t really care all that much. All he cared about was the fact that after such a long night, he was able to sleep in an actual bed. 

And a bed had never felt so comfortable before in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thomas Clarke: an oc that's gonna show up in another fic ;)


End file.
